One Night Out
by Leaper
Summary: McKinley High's Junior Prom King was not, of course, at the Senior Prom. But that didn't mean that his night was ordinary, thanks to some friends...


**AN: Inspired by a Tumblr post that wondered what Dave did on prom night. I thought about it, and came up with this:**

Dave Karofsky went through his list with the solemnity of a general before the decisive battle.

_Popcorn? Check. Coke? Check. Netflix queue? Check. Remote? Check? Fuzzy bear slippers? Check and check. _(They were a gift from Dave's brother. They were meant as a joke, but they were warm and comfortable, so HA, fuck YOU, Jack!)

Dave plopped down onto the couch, the cushions bouncing underneath him. He snatched up the remote and went through the queue one last time. _Live Free or Die Hard_ (a classic to whet the palate), _Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows, Thor _(and he could finally admit to himself, Chris Hemsworth was fucking hot)… That was a good enough start for the evening.

Propping his bear-slippered feet onto the ottoman, he raised the remote. His finger was a single millisecond from pressing "play" when…

*ding dong*

_Of course._ Dave threw a dirty look at the door, as if trying to scare it into taking back the doorbell ring. Sighing, he tossed the remote aside and got up. It had better not be one of those Jehovah's Witnesses, or he was going to go fucking apeshit…

He threw the door open, ready to bark out "What?" at the top of his lungs. Indeed, he began the exclamation, but it quickly choked off when he saw…

"Kurt?"

"Hello, David." Kurt Hummel took a couple of delicate sniffs at the air, standing on tiptoe to peek over Dave's shoulder. "Ooh, is that popcorn?" He sashayed (yes, sashayed; Dave had no memory of where he learned that word, but no other was appropriate) into the house, searching for the source of the smell.

"Uh… Sure, come in." But Kurt hadn't heard the sarcastic remark. He was too busy leaning over the back of the couch and taking a few kernels of popcorn from the bowl. He ate, but his look immediately turned disgusted.

"Artificial butter-flavored topping? Is this _microwave_ popcorn? Really, David, we need to buy you an air popper…" He trailed off as his eyes fell to Dave's feet. "Very nice slippers."

"Uh, Kurt, if you need a break from criticizing my snacks and making fun of my slippers…"

"I wasn't! I meant it! They're cute!"

"Fine, but what the fuck are you doing here? Isn't the McKinley Senior Prom tonight?"

"Yes, it is."

"So why are you here instead of getting ready for your big night with Hair Gel McGee?"

Kurt, with obvious (but futile) effort, tried to suppress a snicker. "Actually, that's a funny story… Remind me to tell you later. Anyway, I came because… I wanted to see how you were doing."

Dave raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Uh huh. Well, as you can see, I'm doing fine. I was about to sit down to a movie. You couldn't have just sent a text or called?"

The smile slipped off Kurt's face. He shook his head a little. "No. The last time we talked, you made it sound like you'd be alone…"

"Yeah, well, the old Karofsky Home High doesn't exactly have a lot of extracurriculars. And honestly…" Dave sighed. "I don't think I would've wanted to go to a prom even if I could. Not after…" His lips twisted into a sneer of disgust – probably a familiar expression to Kurt, but this time it was aimed inward. "Shit, don't listen to me. I'm a fucking retard…"

"No, David, it's okay. Don't apologize for something you had nothing to do with. I just thought… maybe you'd miss it anyway, even if you did have… bad memories. And that a friend would do something about it…"

Dave's face, and heart, softened. "Aw, c'mon, Kurt…"

Instead of continuing his thought, Kurt looked around the silent house. "Where are your parents, anyway?"

"Cincinnati for the weekend. I think they're trying to work things out between them, but…" Dave shuddered, rubbing his forearms. He didn't finish his thought. He didn't have to.

"Oh, Dave, I'm so sorry…"

Dave shook his head violently. "Nah, it's okay. Really. It's… it's fine."

This time it was Kurt who raised the skeptical eyebrow, but he didn't press. "They left you alone for the weekend, though… That's progress."

"Yeah. I think they finally trust that I won't… well, you know. And I won't," he added suddenly. He had this wild impulse to make sure Kurt knew that. "I really won't. I'm… I'm better. Or at least, I'm getting better…"

"Well, I know one place we can start." Kurt cast an appraising and judgmental eye over Dave, over his plain gray t-shirt and sweats. "Those clothes."

"What the fuck is wrong with what I'm wearing? I'm just hanging around the house."

"Ah, but a good outfit can really lighten your mood. Make you feel good about yourself."

Dave snickered. "Oh, yeah, right, you probably walk around with a designer outfit to vacuum."

Kurt stuck his nose into the air. "And what if I do? Being fashionable isn't a switch you can turn on and off. It is a state of being. And you, my friend…" He poked Dave in the middle of the chest. "Need a lift. So you're going to get out of this Finn-wear and into something decent. Now march!"

"Jeez, Kurt…"

"I mean it, Dave. Go. Pick out something you'd wear to a cotillion…"

"A what?"

"Fine, a formal party. Nice, but a little casual." Kurt frowned in annoyance as Dave didn't move. "Well? Go!"

Without completely realizing why, Dave bolted upstairs at the command. It was only a few minutes later, as he was browsing his closet (he'd just gotten used to being in it without looking up), that he wondered _why_. Maybe it was Kurt. No, it was definitely Kurt. True to his word, he was an actual presence, an actual _friend_, the past few months. But, as he'd told him near the beginning, "I expect an actual effort from you too, David. Friendships are a two way street." So maybe this was part of it, that two way street? Eh, it was a change from sitting around on his ass on a Saturday night like a loser, at any rate.

He finally chose a blue (he had no fucking clue if it was azure or chartreuse or what-the-fuck-ever; his distinctions between colors came down to "light," "dark," and "medium") button-up shirt and a nice pair of jeans – "nice" defined as "dark blue without holes." Looking at himself in the mirror, he had to admit he _did_ feel a _little_ better, a little spiffier; he couldn't remember when he'd last dressed up. He'd hardly left the house since he got back from the hospital, hadn't gone to Scandals at all. Home just seemed... safer.

Shaking the thought out of his head, he took a last look to make sure his cuffs were buttoned securely, then went back downstairs. Kurt was waiting, sitting on the couch, idly munching on the inferior microwave popcorn. At Dave's steps, he looked up. He took another appraising glance and smiled, nodding in approval. "Now there! You look very nice!" Dave's cheeks burned. "Isn't that a lot better?"

"Yeah. I guess. I still feel a little stupid, just sitting around the house looking like this..."

"Then we'd better do something about that too." Kurt looked at his watch. "In fact, you should be getting help right about..."

*ding dong*

"Now."

Dave stared, at Kurt's smug look, at the door. "Kurt, what the hell...?"

When Kurt spoke again, his voice was quiet, yet tinged with anticipation. "Go on, Dave. Answer the door."

His mind still whirling with confusion, Dave went to the door and opened it. His eyes widened.

Daniel was a lot like Kurt: high voiced, fashion and gossip maven, a little effeminate. But, also like Kurt, he was one of the wittiest, smartest, kindest guys Dave had ever met. Joshua was a lot more like Dave, a "normal" guy (though Kurt was weaning him slowly from thinking in such terms): a jeans and t-shirt, sports loving, five-o-clock shadowed, beer drinking college student studying architecture. Tim, as was typical for him, was bedecked in leather: cap, chaps, vest - though atypically for him, he wore a collared shirt under the vest, and his thick mustache actually looked trimmed for a change. Ethan was a recent transplant from Houston, and milking it for all it was worth, deliberately walking around with a cowboy hat and boots, wearing checked shirts and dusty jeans, exaggerating his accent and "down home" speaking style to swooner levels.

He hadn't seen any of them since the last time he was at Scandals. But here they were, standing on his front porch, smiling at him with anticipation, and not a little relief.

"Uh... Hi, guys..." Dave finally managed to gasp out. "Wh-what are you doing here...?"

"Ya ain't been t'Scandals lately," Ethan drawled. "We heard what happened. Ya got us all worried plumb sick, lil' ol' bear cub!"

"Yeah... I'm sorry to worry you guys. I guess I was kind of embarrassed..."

"You shouldn't have been," Daniel said. "You think most the regulars there wouldn't have understood?"

"But..." Dave gulped; why couldn't he get rid of the lump in his throat? "That doesn't really explain what you're doing here..."

"We couldn't let you miss Scandals," Joshua said with a lopsided grin. "They're holding a special theme tonight: Gay Prom!"

Dave's jaw dropped. "You're shitting me."

"And WE," Tim cut in, "are your escorts for tonight. Personally, I wanted it to be just me, but these three yahoos insisted on horning in. And don't worry; I promised Twinkie over there that I... that _we_... would treat you like a gentleman."

"Twinkie?" Dave whirled around back towards Kurt, who stood behind him with a _very_ satisfied smile on his face.

"I hope I got this right, Dave. You seemed like you spent a lot of time at Scandals, so I thought you might've been known there. I spent almost a _week _in interviews vetting these guys. I wanted to make absolutely sure that I was giving your home address to the right people."

Dave turned back to the four guys outside. It was funny... If someone had asked him, even before... everything... who he liked enough, trusted enough, at Scandals to have his home address... This would've been his exact answer.

The enormity, the _reality_, of what was happening started to hit him then. "Geez, you guys didn't have to..."

"But we wanted to," Daniel interrupted. "It's fun for us too. Most of us didn't go to our prom."

"Or take who we wanted to take..." Joshua added.

"So we're doing it right," Tim finished. "We got the punch bowl, cheesy streamers, everything! Don't have a band, though; we're all taking turns on the karaoke machine. And that includes _you_, Cub; no arguments."

"B'sides, the thought of you sittin' here all by your lonesome, like some starvin' coyote [which he pronounced with a long "o" and silent "e"] out on th' plains? That ain't right." A small plug of something was working in Ethan's cheek; Dave knew (as Ethan had confessed to him one night while drunk enough to use his _normal_ accent and vernacular) that it was just bubble gum.

A mantra, containing the words "do not cry, you huge wuss", started running through his mind. "Christ... I dunno what to say..."

"No need," Daniel replied. "Now... The limo awaits!" The four separated into pairs, revealing a long black car waiting at the curb.

Dave laughed. "Jesus, you actually did get a limo?"

Tim shrugged. "It's prom. We even got drinks back there, though..." He grinned. "We aren't gonna give any to _underage_ guys who get into clubs with fake IDs, now will we?"

"Uh, no... Of course not." Dave turned even redder.

"Not even if those guys turn out to be good kids who make friends easy," Tim continued, his gruff voice suddenly soft. "Who have people in his life who care about 'em, and make those people want to remind him that he's loved and that he isn't alone."

Dave thought he heard Kurt sniffle behind him; his mental mantra grew louder.

Kurt clapped his hands twice sharply. "Come on, now, Dave, the evening draws near! You go on and have a good time!" Dave turned back to him. "Don't worry, I'll lock up! Now go on; chop-chop!" He made a "shoo" gesture.

"Kurt, I..."

"You know, I wasn't even sure this was going to work," Kurt said quietly. "I wasn't sure what kind of guy you were there, what kind of people you met, whether you'd gotten out of your shell enough to make friends - or at least been more than the quiet lump you tend to be." Dave laughed wetly; how could he not? It was true. "But talking to your friends there... It really opened my eyes. I should've known I didn't need to worry." Without warning, Kurt's arms were wrapped around him. Dave returned the hug, not even feeling the moisture running down his cheeks. "You have a good time," Kurt whispered. "You deserve happy prom memories."

"So do you," Dave whispered back. "You have a good time too. Th-thank you..."

"Hey, what're friends for?" They parted. "Now go. I have to get ready for my big night too, you know."

"Gonna rock the kilt again?" Dave asked with a smirk.

Kurt laughed. "No, no. But I'm going to bring down the house nevertheless."

"No doubt."

"You make sure to call me tomorrow, give me _all_ the gory details."

"You too. Say hi to Blaine, huh?"

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Calling him by his real name? You _must_ be feeling charitable!"

_Because of you,_ Dave wanted to say. _Don't forget, I still owe you a dance_, Dave wanted to say. But there would be, could be, another time and place for that. This wasn't it. He had a prom to go to.

As he stepped out onto the porch, his four friends closed around him. "So," Joshua said, grinning, slapping him on the back, "you ready to party?"

"HELL, YEAH!" Dave bellowed.

As Kurt watched, nodding in satisfaction, the five started down the walk towards the limo. They were just the first steps of many, the start of a long night of dance and drink and song (which Dave couldn't get out of, no matter how much he begged; when he was done, he thought the stares were because he'd totally humiliated himself - he ended up singing a lot more).

It was, in short, one of the best goddamn nights in Dave Karofsky's whole fucking life.


End file.
